The Shadow of Tyburn Tree (28 page)

On learning that he had just arrived from Copenhagen she inquired after her brother and her nephew the Prince Regent, then, after a few minutes of not very inspiring conversation she said she hoped that Roger would enjoy his stay in Sweden, and gave him her hand to kiss as a sign that the audience was over.

As soon as he was free Roger went in search of the green-eyed lady, now more determined than ever to pursue his acquaintance with her, not only from pleasure but as the best possible line for gaining information which would be useful to him in his task.

He found that she was dancing with a tall fair man of about thirty, and after a moment, noticed that his left hand was encased in a black kid glove; so he was evidently the masked gallant who had claimed her earlier in the evening. Roger waited patiently for the dance to end, then followed the couple as they left the ballroom with the intention of learning where they meant to sit out, and giving them ten minutes or so together before making another attempt to persuade the young widow to give him a dance.

Green-eyes and her escort went down the grand staircase and entered a salon on its right, where a handful of people were partaking of refreshments from a long buffet. As Roger
followed he saw a fat elderly man, who was standing by himself, set down his glass of wine, bow to the girl and say something to her cavalier; upon which both men bowed to her, evidently asking her permission to have a word apart; she nodded to them and went on alone through a doorway into a further room.

Seeing his opportunity Roger hastened his pace, passed the two men, who were now conversing earnestly together, and followed his quarry into the next room. In one glance he saw that it was a small library and empty except for the girl, who had advanced to the window and was standing with her back towards him. With a wicked little smile he softly closed the door behind him and shot the bolt.

On hearing his footfall she turned and gave an exclamation of surprise at seeing Roger instead of her cavalier.

As he stood there smiling at her he had his first opportunity of really taking in her features. Natalia Andreovna was twenty-five years of age. Her bust was small, almost flat for that period when abundant curves were the fashion, and this gave the impression that she was even thinner than was in fact the case. Above her green eyes, narrow, darkish eyebrows slanted upwards towards her temples in strange contrast to her ash-blonde hair. Her cheekbones were high; her face a long oval. Her nose was short and her mouth thin, but her head was beautifully set on a long swan-like neck. Her physical charms were unusual but strongly compelling.

Raising the tapering eyebrows she said with feigned hauteur: ‘What means this, Monsieur?'

Roger retained his impudent grin and bowed. ‘Merely the claiming of the promise you made me, Madame.'

‘I made you no promise.'

‘By inference you did. 'Twas at your suggestion that we retained our incognito until midnight. And the reason you gave for that was that it would be more romantic to do so. No romance could flourish in a crowd, so I assumed that I had your permission to seek you out alone.'

Her eyes held no anger but a faint amusement as they ran over his tall, muscular figure, his healthily-bronzed face, strong white teeth and long, well-made hands.

‘Permit me to make myself known to you,' he went on. ‘I am the Chevalier de Breuc, of Strasbourg, and your most humble servant. Nay, more. If you would have it so, I am already your adoring slave.'

She smiled. ‘And I am the Baroness Stroganof, but ….'

The door handle rattled sharply; then there came a swift knock on the door.

'Tis my partner, Count Yagerhorn!' she exclaimed.

Roger put his finger to his lips to enjoin silence, tiptoed quickly forward, took her by the hand and turning her about pulled her gently towards the window.

‘Monsieur!' she whispered. ‘What—what are you about to do?'

‘Why, carry you off,' he whispered back with a low laugh. ‘Is not climbing in and out of windows the very essence of romance?'

The knocking came again, louder and more imperative.

‘But Count Yagerhorn!' she protested quickly. ‘I cannot leave him thus. And your having locked the door compromises me sadly. Unless you let him in at once and make him an apology he may challenge you to fight.'

Roger had thrust up the lower half of the window. It was only a four foot drop to the broad stone terrace that overlooked the bay.

‘ 'Tis against my religion to apologise to any man,' he declared gaily. ‘But if the Count wishes to fight let me at least rob him of more than two minutes' converse with you as a cause for shedding his blood. Come, I will go first, and catch you as you jump.'

Suiting the action to the word he scrambled out on to the terrace and, turning, held up his arms to her.

She leaned forward, her green eyes narrowed in. a speculative look. ‘You seem mightily cocksure of a victory, Monsieur. I wonder are you truly as bold as your words imply?'

‘Try me, and see,' he laughed, stretching up to take her hand. ‘I'd fight half-a-dozen men for a kiss from you.'

‘If I've ever a mind to test you as a champion I'll take you up on that,' she smiled. Then, suddenly deciding that this tempestuous new beau offered more prospect of amusement than her recent partner, she stepped up on to the low sill and jumped lightly down.

As Roger caught her in his arms he drew her body swiftly against his own and kissed her firmly on the mouth. She made no attempt to stop him and for a full minute they clung together mouth pressed to mouth.

‘La! Monsieur,' she exclaimed breathlessly as they drew apart. ‘I had no idea that any man other than a Russian could make so bold with a woman on so short acquaintance.'

‘Nor I,' he countered, ‘that any woman not of French blood had the temperament to lend her lips so well to a first kiss.'

She smiled at him. ‘Then you have never visited my country, Monsieur, Russian men have no opinion of a woman who pretends to get the vapours at a peck.'

‘ 'Tis most fitting that our countries should now be allies, then, for our minds on that are of a kind.' As he spoke he threw his right arm round her waist and gave her another, even longer, kiss.

‘Enough!' she gasped. ‘Enough! And now, Monsieur; having got me out here what is it your intention to do with me?'

‘Were it high summer I could suggest a score of things,' he said lightly, ‘but I fear for you the chill of the night air in that thin dress. Having separated you from the Count my first objective is achieved; so I can but take you indoors again by another route, and hope to find a secluded corner where I can tell you how ravishing I find you.'

She shrugged. ‘I vow you say that to every woman that you meet.'

‘Nay, Madame. Only to those who make my heart beat faster, and if you have a single doubt that you do that, I pray you give me your hand that I may place it on my pulse.'

‘Maybe I'll apply the test on some other occasion,' she laughed. ‘But you are right about it being too cold to dally here tonight. Take me within and you shall tell me all about yourself.'

With their arms round one another's waists they strolled along the terrace, and reaching some shrubberies at the side of the house embraced again in their deep shadow. For a few moments she let him caress her then, with an eel-like movement wriggled away, exclaiming: ‘Nay, nay! 'Tis not the time or place for such familiarities. Nor am I the woman to permit them.'

Her last statement was so much at variance with her first that Roger had difficulty in preventing himself from laughing; but the darkness enabled him to conceal his amusement. The slim Russian's temporary complaisance had given ample promise that she held fire enough to melt one of her native icebergs, and he was well content to have made such swift progress with her. So soothing her pretended indignation with appropriate phrases of contrition he led her back into the house by a side door.

The salon on the right of the grand staircase had also been turned into a refreshment room, so they had a glass of champagne and a helping of lobster mousse apiece there, then carried two more glasses of wine through to a conservatory that lay beyond it.

Immediately they had settled themselves she began to catechise him with a directness that some men might have found embarrassing; but Roger did not mind it in the least. He had played the part of Monsieur le Chevalier de Breuc so long
in France that he could give all that suited him of that gentleman's fictitious history as easily as he could of his own; and he found a peculiar delight in watching the varied emotions aroused by his answers chase each other across his companion's exceptionally expressive face. Moreover, when she at length began to hesitate over fresh questions to put to him he was able, without impertinence, to catechise her with equal thoroughness.

It emerged that she was the only daughter of Count Razumofsky; that she had lost her mother at the age of ten, and married Baron Stroganof when she was twenty. The Baron's father had been the Empress's Chamberlain during the brief reign of her husband, Peter III, and also, for a short time, her lover. The Baron himself had been one of General Suvarof's aides-de-camp and with him in the Russian-held fortress of Kimburne, on the Black Sea when, in the previous year, five thousand Turks crossed the river from the neighbouring town of Otchakof and attempted to take the Russian garrison by surprise. The plan had miscarried and the Russians, sallying out, had driven the Turks back to their boats; many of which had been sunk by cannon balls and others, during the ensuing confusion, gone aground on mudbanks. An appalling massacre had ensued, for General Suvarof, with ruthless brutality, had refused the Turks quarter; but he was seriously wounded himself, and the young Baron had died on the field from the stroke of a Turkish scimitar.

Natalia Andreovna had then left St. Petersburg to act as hostess for her father in the Embassy at Stockholm. She had one child, a daughter, now four years old; but she did not like children, and had left her own in Russia to be brought up on her late husband's estate near Vologda, by one of his aunts. She was very rich, owning in her own right over twelve thousand serfs; and was, she declared, enjoying her freedom too much to contemplate marrying again for a long time to come. In fact, fear that the Empress, whose word was law, might marry her off to one of her own ex-lovers whom she wished to enrich had been Natalia Andreovna's principal reason for settling in Stockholm; since she much preferred life at the Russian court, and despised the Swedes as a soft, cold-blooded, degenerate people.

They had got thus far when Roger heard a rustling of the palms behind him and turned to see that Count Yagerhorn had invaded their corner of the conservatory. The fall fair-haired man was standing there glaring at him, his fresh complexioned face flushed and his pale blue eyes positively popping with anger.

Roger could be more coldly insolent than most people when he chose, and as he was perfectly prepared to fight, he decided to make the most of the situation in order to impress Natalia. Not yet having been introduced to the Count he was not strictly called upon to stand up; so after eyeing him through his quizzing-glass from head to foot he turned his back and lolled again lazily in his chair.

‘Madame, your pardon!' said the Count in a voice halfchoked with rage. ‘Monsieur, I require a word with you.'

Turning again Roger got slowly to his feet, and murmured: ‘Are you addressing me, Monsieur? I don't recall you as a person of my acquaintance.'

Natalia Andreovna's voice came from behind him. ‘Messieurs, allow me to introduce you. Monsieur le Chevalier de Breuc—Count Erik Yagerhorn.' Then she went on with a hint of amusement in her tone. ‘You seem annoyed about something, Erik. Mayhap 'tis because I shut you out of the library; but 'tis you who were at fault for leaving me in order to talk with Colonel Fricke.'

‘ 'Twas but for a moment; and I had your permission to do so,' the Count protested quickly. ‘I can scarce believe that you deliberately chose to compromise yourself by locking that door, and….'

‘What!' snapped Roger. ‘You dare to cast doubt upon this lady's word?'

The Count went as red as a lobster. ‘That is between her and me. My quarrel with you, Monsieur, is that you have deprived me of her company; and I demand an explanation.'

Roger shrugged. ‘The time and place are ill-chosen. But I am lying at the Vasa Inn. Send your friends to me there at whatever hour you choose after dawn and nothing would please me better than to take a walk with you'

‘Erik! You will do nothing of the kind,' said Natalia Andreovna sharply. ‘I forbid vou to fight with Monsieur le Chevalier.'

‘But, Madame …' he began in protest.

‘You heard what I said,' she interrupted him. ‘Later, and it so please me, I'll afford you an opportunity to settle your difference with Monsieur de Breuc. But for the time being I'll not have you risk a wound that may place you
hors de combat
.'

To Roger's surprise the Count calmed down at once. He even smiled as he said: ‘Later then, Madame. I shall take that as a promise,' and, having made a formal bow, he walked away.

The more Roger thought about it the more extraordinary this denouement of the affair appeared. He had often known cases in which women had intervened to stop a duel, from a
natural desire to prevent two men whom they liked or respected injuring one another, but apparently Natalia Andreovna had not been moved by any such humane motive. She had as good as said that she would have not the the least objection to their slitting one another's throats at some later date, but that it did not suit her that they should do so for the present. Her attitude could be explained by the opinion he had already formed, that she was a hard-hearted, bloodthirsty little piece; but what puzzled him more was that she should have the power to make any man take a step so compromising to his honour as to withdraw a challenge, at her bare order.